


To err is human, to forgive, divine.

by Liley



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:08:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3413543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liley/pseuds/Liley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 1 : Athos' reflections during the events of 2.06 and a talk with Porthos afterwards.</p><p>Chapter 2 : After his talk with Pothos, Athos is ready to confront Milady about their past. Or is he ?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I don't think I deserve it, selflessness

**Author's Note:**

> I've written actually quite a lot of fanfiction but never dared publish any of it until now. Apparently, my love for Athos and the Musketeers was too strong to leave this one-shot linger in the shadows...
> 
> English is not my first language, I hope the possible mistakes I've made won't be too distracting. Enjoy !

He’s heard a few times that the Moon had some kind of influence on people. After what he’s witnessed today, he begins to think this is not just an old wives’ tale.

*****

This morning, he’d been ready to escort the King and a part of the court to the Châtillon but everything had started to go to the dogs the minute he’d arrived at the Palace. Anne… – no, it was Milady de Winter now, Anne was dead the moment the noose had squeezed her throat – So, _Milady_ was there, of course, flirting with the King and he couldn’t stand it, the way she was talking, the way she walked, rolling her hips and graciously flipping her hair from one shoulder to the other, her green eyes glowing with mischief…

When he had exiled her a year ago, he’d thought foolishly he could begin living again but, only after a few months, he’d realized he missed her, more than he ever did when he thought her dead. Now that she was back again in his life, he felt again the mixture of excitement and bitterness that struck his bones everytime he went to a place where she might be.

Worse, he dreamt again. Not these horrid nightmares he had last year where he saw her at the gates of Hell waiting for him, blood pouring out of the mark on her throat, no, sweet reveries, like fragments of memories from the happier days they’d lived together… He remembered the smell of forget-me-nots in her hair, at the swell of her breasts, even between her legs… That time in the field where he’d buried his face there, craving to drink this smell from her… Wherever he went, whatever he was doing, she would _never_ leave him alone, even in his sleep.

So he’d rushed back to the garrison, to that one place he felt at peace and, once again, she had made his bubble of comfort explode when she’d arrived asking for help, her hair floating around her face, her sophisticated dress almost entirely torn off, eating a chicken leg and ordering him and the captain around. He remembers he’d thought _No, I don’t want to stay near her, please Captain, take her away from me, this is too much…_ but then she had kept surprising him in every turn their rescue mission had taken.

At the end of the day, he’d finally realized he didn’t know her. His spirited Anne, the cold blooded assassin who worked for the Cardinal and the courtesan Milady de Winter had nothing to do with this woman who wanted to be his equal and rescue the King. He couldn’t help but feel admiration towards her for the way she was quietly and even professionally handling danger.

And she had lost everything now. The man he was a year ago would’ve rejoiced seeing her deprived of all the things she’d strived for, but the Athos he was now had simply wanted to comfort her.

“You have my respect.” _You showed me who you really are, and I love this side of you._

“Once upon a time, that might have been important to me.” _You’ve caught up just now, but I’ve moved on since._

*****

He’s sitting on his bed now, wondering where she is. She probably sold her jewels and found a room somewhere. He doesn’t want to think of her alone at night on the street. _Although she can handle herself perfectly._

A knock on the door distracts him from his thoughts. “Athos, can we talk? You still owe me an explanation, remember?” Ah, Porthos. Porthos who’s always waiting for him when he gets drunk in a tavern to escort him home safely, Porthos who only wants what’s best for him and who, he’s sure of it, feels more concerned about many things than a common man would.

“A gentleman is always true to his word. Come in!” He waits for the tall man to enter and take a seat. “Wine?”

“I’d usually say no but you know what? I was forced to share a cell with Rochefort and I got my shoulder dislocated today. Hand the bottle over.” Porthos drinks a few gulps and then puts the bottle on the table. “So, why was _she_ helping us?”

“Well, if the King had been killed, she would’ve lost her position at Court” answered Athos, almost saying the exact same words Anne had pronounced a few hours before.

“She lost it anyway though, she must’ve been pretty mad…”

“She tasted virtue and it tasted sour… But she fought for our cause when she could’ve fled, I thought she would have, to be quite honest. She surprised me.” He knows the admiration – or is it something else? – he felt for her earlier still shows in his voice despite his efforts to keep it casual.

Porthos looks at him for a moment, his eyebrows creased. Then he gets up and walks to the window, looking as if he wants to say something but doesn’t dare.

After a silence, he finally takes a deep breath and turns around: “You still love her, don’t you?”

Athos’ answer is cold and unnecessary harsh, a perfect remain of the Comte de la Fère: “I was expecting that question. The truth is, that’s none of your concern, is it?”

He knows Porthos has never liked the way he seems sometimes to treat others as if they are below himself. Honestly, he doesn’t even notice he does but having lived in a manor for the majority of his life hasn’t exactly helped him adopting more modest and respectful manners. He doesn’t expect, however, his friend’s burst of anger triggered by his tone of voice. “Well, it is when I pick you up every week on a tavern floor and take you back to your bed! It is when you scream or cry in your sleep for her and I have to comfort you! It is when you swear to kill her if she comes back to Paris, but instead you decide to put your trust in her to save us! Actually, I’m pretty sure you’re thinking about helping her since she’s been dismissed by the King, am I right?”

Athos’ silence is worth a thousand words. Porthos doesn’t look crossed now, just worried, which is even worse because it makes him feel guilty. _I don’t deserve such good and caring friends._ “Why would you do this? Hasn’t she hurt you enough?”

Athos gives him a sharp look: “Not as much as I’ve hurt her. She thought I was her salvation when we married, that she could finally leave her life of thievery behind and start over. Then I refused to listen to her reasons to kill Thomas and hanged her. That would make anyone vengeful, wouldn’t it?”

Porthos stays silent for a while, letting the confession sink in probably. The former Comte realizes he’s never told his story like that, usually he always allows the anger he feels thinking about Anne’s lies dominate his tale and twist his words.

Then, his friend’s ask takes him off guard: “What do you want to do then?”

Athos sighs and then gives the answer he’s prepared in his head since the end of the afternoon: “I need to talk to her. We need to settle this once and for all. If I am to move on as she did apparently a while ago, I need to forgive her as I forgave myself. I want to hear her version of the events.”

Immediately after saying these words, he feels a weight crush his shoulders. Would it be so easy? Could they both behave with civility when facing each other? What if that meeting would only be a new source of torment for years to come?

“Hey, look at me.”

Athos lifts his head and is surprised to find his friend smile at him.

“You listen to me very carefully. I’m not going to pretend this sounds like a good idea to me, but I understand you need closure. I’m sure d’Artagnan and Aramis would understand too. After all, we’re your friends, right? You couldn’t shake us three off even if you tried, you know that. So, I’m gonna do what a friend would do: let you do your thing and then listen to you telling me how the meeting with Milady went, sharing your joy if it had been well and sharing your wine if it had been Hell.”

Gratitude fills instantly every pore of Athos' body. No judgement, no lecture, simply concern. “I won’t try to see her again if it goes wrong. That I promise you." Then he adds, feeling an unexpected rush of dry humor: "Although I’ll probably be moodier if I do so… Will you be able to handle it?”

Porthos lets out a snort. “You wouldn’t be Athos otherwise!” and then, more seriously: “I’ll handle it. Do what you have to do, we’ll deal with the consequences as we always do. But if you ever break your promise, I’ll show you again why you compare me to a bull, right?”

“Right.” His head full of thoughts, he lets his friend get up and going to the door. Just before Porthos steps outside, suddenly, he feels like he should say something, anything: “Porthos!” The words seem stuck in his mouth, he who’s never been quite able to voice his feelings, keeping them buried inside. “I… I just wanted to say…”

But, of course, his friend knows. “You’re welcome.”


	2. before it starts again, darkening, then brightening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me about what happened with Thomas.”  
> “Why? Do you want to ease your conscience?”
> 
> After his talk with Porthos, Athos is now ready to ask his wife's version of what happened that day. Or is he ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the confrontation of our favourite problematic couple !
> 
> This chapter is rather long, blame it on Athos and Milady, I got completely carried away ! Enjoy.

It’s very early when Athos arrives at the Louvre, the sky is not yet all clear and the sun is still red on the horizon. He hopes that, this way, he’ll have time to ask around about Anne’s whereabouts and then look after her before he has to go back to the garrison and do his Musketeer’s duty.

The first, half-asleep, handmaiden he crosses path with hasn’t heard of her since yesterday’s events but tells him he’ll have more luck if he goes to the King’s mistress apartments directly. She points her finger to some vague direction in the palace but he knows it well enough to head for the eastern part of it.

On his way, he sees other servants, as discreet as mice, sweeping the floor, cleaning the China vases with great care, some of them already carrying food trays to their masters. It seems everything around him is awakening, the wooden floor creaks under his boots, the sun pierces through the window making the marble columns in the great hall come alive and the staircase sings when he climbs it.

He’s almost reached his destination when he hears heavy footsteps in front of him in the nearest corridor. Then, a sarcastic voice he’d recognize amongst thousands cracks like a whip: “It must be a great relief to be the only one in the King’s heart again, isn’t it Rochefort? Not sure you can offer everything I provided him with, though.”

The over articulated voice of Louis’ favourite answers her: “Don’t get above yourself, woman, I warned you this day would happen. Now, if I were you, I’d avoid staying in Paris, who knows what might happen to a woman alone when the sun sets…” After a pause, he adds with a detestable humorous tone: “Although you’d be in your place in its muddy streets…”

Is it the half-veiled allusion that makes Athos enter the corridor? Anyway, he’s there now, facing stairs, staring at his wife whose back is turned to him, surrounded by Red Guards and probably staring at Rochefort in disdain. The man in front of him raises his eyes and seems unpleasantly surprised to find a Musketeer there: “What are you doing here at such an early hour, Monsieur?”

Athos answers with an equally dry voice: “I need to speak to Milady de Winter about an important matter. Alone.” At these words, Anne turns around and faces him, narrowing her eyes and searching his face. _What are you planning again?_

Rochefort doesn’t seem to notice her sudden interest. He leans against the bannister and smiles arrogantly: “What matter cannot be discussed in front of the King’s most loyal servant, may I ask?”

“The lady is maybe of no use for the King and his _loyal servants_ , but she helped the Musketeers rescuing the King. She may prove herself useful yet again.”

Anne seems to take rather badly the fact that the two men are talking about her as if she wasn’t there. She snaps at her husband: “You think I’ll accept your charity?”

Athos’ answer is febrile: “If you have any sense.” His eyes beg her to stay silent and she decides to comply. For now.

During this small conversation, the King’s counsellor’s eyebrows have risen so high it almost disappears in his hair: “Do you mean to make her the first female Musketeer?”

The former Comtesse de la Fère rolls her eyes so exaggeratedly it makes Athos release an inadvertent smile. He successfully transforms it to make it look like the idea of a female Musketeer looks ridiculous to him too and then leans to Rochefort to talk to him in a confidential tone: “With all due respect, Monsieur, what Musketeers do to get a job done doesn’t matter much to you, does it? What matters are the results, not how we get to them. With our Captain’s dismissal, you made clear to us we needed a change in the way we handle the King and Queen’s protection. We have to keep an eye on every suspect. What best than an apparently inoffensive woman to spy on them?”

Rochefort stays silent for a moment and Athos can see his idea seems quite appealing to him. His piercing eyes stare in his quiet ones and he finally shrugs: “If the Musketeers have fallen so low to the point they’re asking for a woman’s help to make up for their appalling lack of effectiveness, who am I to stop them? Do whatever you want with her, she’s none of my concern anymore.” At these words, he gestures to his guards to let go of Anne and leaves.

As they hear his steps fade out, Anne cannot stay silent for one more second: “ _What on earth are you doing?_ ”

“Just saving you from the streets, but no need to thank me.”

“I told you I don’t need charity from you. Besides, you told me the only thing stopping you from killing me was the fact I was the King’s mistress. I’m not anymore. Why don’t you just do it? It’s not like someone will be missing me anyway.” She stares down at him with bitterness deforming her face. Suddenly, the idea of a world without her seems abhorrent to Athos: “We need to talk.”

From bitter, her tone becomes outright angry. _There we go._ “Do we? I have no wish to talk to you, no wish to hear you say I have your _respect_ because I served your interests, no wish to see you ever again.” The words slip out of her mouth like serpents from a basket. _She wants to hurt you like you hurt her, don’t let her in._ But it’s quite difficult to do so when the woman you love – _loved_ – gets closer to you, close enough for you to smell her perfume – _jasmine, it suits her more than forget-me-nots, more aggressive_ – and tells you with eyes as hard as emerald: “You made me a survivor, I can handle myself perfectly wherever I go. I’m not the one who drinks my pain away and refuses to accept I hanged my wife for a murder she committed in self-defence! I’m not the one who’s in love with a woman who died six years ago!”

Athos struggles for a moment, trying to keep calm and not begin arguing with her. Then, he asks as politely as he can: “In fact, that’s exactly what we have to talk about. Can we go outside?” She hesitates for a few seconds, at first looking as if she was ready to laugh at him and say no before finally giving him her best bored stare and shrugs. He takes it for a yes.

As they make their way outside, he notices the palace is much more animated than when he arrived. Servants have been replaced by nobles who pace up the corridors as if they owned the place. Anne watches them thoughtfully: “Do you remember we were like them, once?”

He turns his head to face her, surprised by her sudden nostalgic tone. He gives her a lopsided smile: “We were more prone to frolic in fields if I remember correctly.” A snort answers him.

Finally, they’re outside. Anne looks around her like she wants to embrace the view one last time before leaving it forever. Then, she sighs: “I should’ve known it was too good to be true… Oh well, at least I got to know what it’s like to be respected and admired for once.” She gives him a side glance, daring him to say he does feel all these things for her.

Instead, he decides to ask her for what he came at the Louvre in the first place: “Why don’t you tell me about what happened with Thomas?”

She narrows her eyes, immediately on the defensive: “Why? Do you want to ease your conscience?”

He laughs humourlessly: “It’s been a long time since I cared about my conscience. No, I ask you because I never did before. All I cared about was the fact you were a thief and you didn’t tell me.”

Anne looks surprised by what he says but that doesn’t stop her from answering sharply: “Well, I actually told you why I murdered him but, as you said, you were too busy crying about your mean, lying wife to pay attention.” She stays silent for a bit, then she sees he’s patiently waiting for her to continue. She sits on a stone bench and revels in the beauty of the morning. The birds are singing, the sun has risen and warms their skin and the flowers are burgeoning. They are staying under a big green tree surrounded by voluminous bushes. They’re very much alone. If their discussion was more pleasant, they’d think they’re back to their old life, simply enjoying another morning together. But they’re not.

She finally sighs and gives him a disappointed look: “You know what makes me angry about you? Apart from the fact you’ve wanted to kill me numerous times, of course. It seems you’ve never tried to understand who I truly am. I could be your lovely wife, but you refused to see the times when I was angry and impulsive, which is in my nature too! What I think is that you’ve just realized yesterday who your beloved wife is. I saw it dawning on you when I saved your life: “ _I’ve never seen that part of her before, I like that!_ ” But this is who I’ve been the whole time!”

She takes a moment to let everything she said sink in and starts talking again, not allowing Athos to say a word: “The fact is, this _epiphany_ of yours is six years too late. I’ve made my way into the world, risen high and fallen low, and I’m still here, willing to continue despite everything. I was so desperate when I met you, tired of this life of thievery that was slowly killing me inside, but I seized the opportunity. (Athos gives her a dangerous glance) Yes, that’s hash, isn’t it? But I loved you, more than you could possibly imagine. That’s why I kept it from you. You’re a smart man, aren’t you? So, think. A noble man, marrying a seemingly innocent common woman. Risking his position and the ire of his family to have her. And then, she tells him she’s been living as a pickpocket before he knew her. How would you have reacted? A lazy: “It’s nothing, the past is in the past” and a pat on the back? That’s the problem with you, you know, you can’t let go of the past, and if you don’t, how can you be able to listen to the one person who once meant everything to you?”

She’s right, of course she is, and strangely, it makes him angry, really angry. _Actually, that’s completely justified_ , he thinks, _who likes to hear a thousand truths about them thrown carelessly to their face in a handful of seconds?_ Still, he steadies himself and lets the Comte de la Fère’s cold voice take control: “You did not answer the question.”

She seems to notice his change of behaviour, but she too is driven by anger or she simply doesn’t care about it: “I’ll tell you one last time, so listen carefully: Thomas found out about my former life, he went to Paris one day and, apparently, he met someone I’d worked for before I fled. I begged him on my knees not to tell anyone, and he finally agreed, on one condition. You know which. One thing Catherine could not give him, because she was too _noble_ , too _important_ for that. I had nothing to lose, you see? So why say no? Ask me!”

He feels like something is rising inside him. He’s never talked with anyone like her before, someone so brutally honest, who doesn’t care about how he feels. His friends always listen to him, the fatherly figure. But _her_ … His mouth wants to thank her for treating him like any other, but his hands want to squeeze her neck. _This is dangerous. We’ve gone too far. We should end this now._ He crosses his arms, preventing his hands from doing something not-so-gentlemanly and stares at her, the beat of his heart galloping as fast as a hundred horses.

Her eyes are still shining with hatred but her mouth grins, knowing he’s never going to obey her and ask, but still, she’ll give the answer anyway. After all, he wanted this conversation, right?

She gets up and approaches him, step by step, until she almost touches him. Her voice is surprisingly soft as she says: “When you know someone who loves you enough to make you feel like you’re not as worthless as you think you are, you feel so loyal to them, so grateful it makes it unconceivable to betray them. You’d rather die.” Then, she looks at him dead in the eyes, relishing in advance the words he knows will make him lose it: “You made me kill Thomas because you made me respect myself.”

Something snaps inside his brain. He wants this to stop, he wants, no, he _needs_  her to shut up, in any way possible. So, his mouth finds hers and he bites.

Hard.

She lets out a pained growl and she bites back, true to herself. Then, and he doesn’t know how it’s come to this so fast, it turns into a proper kiss, his hands gripping her waist, bringing her closer still and he realizes he’s been painfully hard since God knows when but that doesn’t matter because she’s there, her wet, hot mouth opening for his tongue, he thrusts ruthlessly, but she doesn’t mind, scratching at his hair, grinding herself against him, moaning outrageously and…

_What am I doing?_

It’s like that one time, last year, when she made him lose control in that alley. A sudden blur in the brain and then going back to his senses, hating himself even more than before. Except that, this time, he doesn’t hate himself. He’s not even sure he hates her.

_You need to stop kissing her._ He tears his mouth from hers and takes a step back, the bench hitting the back of his knees in the process. _I thought she was the one standing on this side. Well, better not think how she went to the other side._ She looks quite distraught for a moment, and then regains her composure: “I suppose now comes the famous: “Do you think I could forget who you are and what you’ve done?” Please, go about it quickly, I haven’t got all day.”

Too many truths, too many feelings at once… And disappointment, too. “Why did you feel the need to provoke me? We could’ve made peace today.”

She looks strangely appreciative: “You kept calm for far longer than I imagined.”

He shakes his head in disbelief: “That was all a test for you then? I should have known…”

She answers in a very much detached way: “Of course it was, put yourself in my shoes, you’ve lost your temper so much over me since you’ve learned I was alive. And then, out of the blue, you ask to hear my version of what happened that day. I wanted to know how much you were ready to hear it. God, you’ve got a _terrible_ temper.”

“Did you hear what you said to me? You’d get on a saint’s nerves!”

She shrugs: “What can I say? I’ve got my temper too.”

They stare at each other, now staying at a respectable distance. His breath is becoming steadier, hers too. “So, everything you told me… That’s your truth?”

“That’s the only truth… Well, except for that part where I said it was all your fault. But I saw _that_ look in your eyes and, er, I got a bit carried away.”

She’s grinning now, but he knows it’s only a facade. Milady’s facade. _Seems like she’s got an alter ego too_. His face is a mixture of incredulity and wonder when he asks: “Will I ever understand you?”

She looks at him, and her eyes show pity: “No, you won’t. But you’ve got what you came for, right?”

He has to admit it. “Yes, I have. But I thought it would go better than this, if you had been less calculating and, dare I say, _playful_ and I a little more… civil.”

She seems almost serious when she answers: “That’s how we are, aren’t we? I’m a player and you are… moody. But, if I try to be a little more respectful, I think we can work out something. Like you giving me some money so I can sleep in a proper room and not under a bridge.”

His eyes open wide and he retorts: “I cannot believe you’re asking this of me!” (1)

“Oh, come on, don’t be so tight-fisted, I’m in distress right now!”

“Then go and sell all the jewels your _lover_ gave you!”

“You were a far better lover than he is, I must say…”

“God, Anne… You’ll be the death of m...”

He stops himself before entering again a dangerous territory.

These last words resonate in both of them, stopping their banter.

At last, they share the same look in their eyes. At last, they’re on the same level.

That’s finally Anne who opens her mouth and says the words: “Well… I guess that's where I say we've got to go our separate ways?”

He sighs: “Yes, I think we have to.”

They stare at each other and it seems to Athos that some sort of pact has been mentally signed by the two of them. _The truth has been said, we can go on with our life wherever it leads us._ Anne seems to think the same.

She looks like she doesn’t know how to take her leave of him and ends up giving him a little nod of the head. He’s not sure he does not prefer when she’s biting his mouth. Then, she turns on her heel and she’s gone, to the gates of the Louvre, the Tuileries Garden and far away.

 

 

 

Actually, she hasn’t reached the gates yet.

 

 

 

She’s still within earshot.

 

 

 

Well, damn him.

 

 

 

“How much do you need?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) I CANNOT BELIEEEEEVE I felt the need to add that part, but it makes me laugh endlessly everytime I watch 1.09. Oh well.
> 
> As you probably noticed, this chapter has many different tones in it: contemplative, tense, dark, sexy, funny... As I said before, I got completely carried away by the story, so, at first, when I saw I had written so much, I thought about cutting stuff but I finally took the risk to leave it as it was. Tell me what you think!
> 
> One last thing: since the ending here is quite open, I may write another chapter if we get something juicy in the next episodes...
> 
> Chapter title is from Kim Addonizio's poem "Darkening, then brightening"

**Author's Note:**

> Work title is from Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism
> 
> Chapter title is from The Devil Wears Prada's song "Louder than Thunder"


End file.
